Heirs of Ravenscar (16 page)

Edward limped across the library, leaning heavily on his cane. He picked up the phone which stood on a small table in the Long Hall.

‘Deravenel here,' he said. And then he listened acutely, and in some astonishment, as a barrage of words flowed down the wire from Scotland. And without pause.

Finally, the caller stopped to draw breath and Edward answered in the most conciliatory voice he could muster, ‘I understand everything you're saying, Ian, and I am in total agreement with you. At this moment I have guests. But I believe we can sort this out tomorrow, I'm quite sure of that.'

After Ian MacDonald agreed to speak with him the next day, the Scotsman hung up abruptly, without saying another word, not even goodbye.

Edward stood there for a moment. Stunned. His face was white with fury. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself before returning to the library. But it was quite a while before he felt able to do so.

‘I
'm sorry to have brought you in on a Saturday, Amos,' Edward apologized. ‘But I do really need your assistance.'

‘That's all right, Mr Edward,' Amos answered. ‘To tell you the truth, I'm glad to be here, I've nothing better to do. So, how can I be of help, sir?'

‘I want you to break into one of the offices. The only thing is, it mustn't look like a break-in. If anyone can do that, you can.'

‘Beg pardon, sir, but I'm assuming it's Mr George's office you want me to break into, isn't it?'

Edward laughed a little hollowly. How well Amos understood the lay of the land around here. ‘It is indeed. Let's get started, shall we?'

Standing up, Edward strode across the room, followed by Amos, who was explaining, ‘I just have to pop into my office to collect my kit, sir. Give me a jiffy.'

Edward nodded, and continued on down the corridor in
the direction of his brother's office, thinking about George. He had gone into hiding, so to speak, but Edward knew very well where he was – huddling behind the skirts of the women in his family, his wife Isabel and his mother-in-law, Nan Watkins. Little good that would do him. What a fool he was, a blithering idiot who didn't have the brains he was born with. After speaking with Ian MacDonald several times and receiving a full report about the débâcle in Edinburgh, Edward was fully aware that he had to render George powerless. And immediately. A demotion was all there was for it. Edward grimaced to himself; if he could get his hands on George at this moment he would cheerfully strangle him.

He leaned against the door jamb, waiting for Amos, who was now hurrying down the corridor. ‘Don't push yourself, Amos,' Edward muttered. ‘There's plenty of time. No one's likely to arrive here on Saturday, and something of a holiday Saturday at that.' It was the fourth of January, and people were still celebrating the advent of the New Year,
1919
. The beginning of the peace, and a year when anything and everything was possible, so the politicians were pronouncing at any rate.

Unrolling his brown leather pouch, Amos knelt down on the floor, and inserted an implement in the lock. After a bit of jiggling around, there was a click. Amos looked up at Edward and grinned. Rising, the older man turned the knob, and opened the door, exclaiming, ‘After you, Mr Deravenel.'

Edward walked in and paused. ‘My God, he must smoke a lot, this room stinks.'

‘He never has a cigarette out of his mouth these days, sir. In all my life I've never seen anybody smoke like he does.' Amos shook his head. ‘He's an addict, if you ask me.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘He has what Mark Ledbetter used to call an addictive
personality, Mr Deravenel. When the Chief Inspector was a copper, that is.'

‘I saw him over the holidays,' Edward said, looking at Amos swiftly. ‘He's become engaged to Lady Fenella.'

‘Oh sir, I
am
pleased about that! Lovely lady she is, and so philanthropic and caring.' Amos smiled and nodded, and his eyes grew very bright. ‘I couldn't wish for her to have a better man than the Chief Inspector. Good chap, salt of the earth, sir.'

‘He is indeed.' Edward closed the door and walked across to George's desk, reached for the top drawer and grabbed the pull. The drawer didn't budge. It was locked. He tried each one in the large Georgian partners' desk only to discover all of them locked.

‘Well, Amos, my friend, you have quite a task here, I'm afraid. I need to look in all of these drawers, so get to it, do your tricks.'

‘No problem, won't take but a minute.' Even as he answered Amos was kneeling down, inserting an implement and within minutes opening the top centre drawer, then the next and the next. Once they were all open, Amos got up and waved his hand at the desk. ‘All yours, sir.'

The top drawer was full of unpaid bills. Appalled at the amount of money George owed to tailors and merchants, Edward put them back carefully, and slowly went through more drawers. He gaped in surprise when he saw the gun in a bottom drawer. ‘Amos, come and look at this. There's a pistol here.'

Loathing guns the way he did, Edward had no desire to pick it up nor to examine it.

Amos stared down at the gun and shook his head in bafflement. ‘God knows why he needs this thing, Mr Edward. Anyway, it's a Smith and Wesson for your information.' Amos lifted his foot and pushed the drawer closed.

Edward searched the other drawers and found nothing except an address book filled with many women's telephone numbers, plus the numbers for various nightclubs in London. He then crossed the room, opened some of the cupboards and found nothing of any interest. ‘Well, that's it, there's nothing, better lock all the drawers.'

‘Right-o, sir. Excuse me, sir, but were you looking for something specific?'

‘No – well, yes, actually. I was looking for
something
, anything that might be … incriminating in some way.'

Amos threw Edward a look, and then set about locking the drawers.

A few minutes later they left George's office; Amos locked the door, and they walked down the corridor together in total silence.

At one moment Edward paused and looked at Amos, his eyes puzzled. ‘Something nags at the back of my mind, and I can't quite put my finger on it. To be honest, Amos, I really did expect to find something in his office, something of vital importance, but I can't for the life of me think what it is I'm looking for.'

‘If you do remember, let me know, sir. I can open the office door in a jiffy, as you just saw.'

Edward sat in his office, looking at the memos he had received from Oliveri and Will Hasling the day before. These two executives, who were the closest to him, had powerful positions within the company, and had finally finished their surveys of the worldwide business the company had done for the entire year of 1918.

When they had presented the papers to him yesterday they had been thrilled to announce that it had been an
extraordinary year, exceptional, despite the war. Or perhaps, in part, because of it, Edward thought, leaning back in his chair.

Deravenels, the greatest trading company in the world, was truly riding high. Profits were up tremendously, and it seemed to him that they couldn't possibly do better. A small smile struck his face. Of course they could, and would. There would be a huge boom now that the world was at peace.

He leaned forward, shuffled through the papers, focused for a moment on two divisions – mining and the vineyards in France. The latter had had some problems, but not because of the war so much as bad weather. But the wine division was as profitable as it had been for hundreds of years.

And their mines around the world were flourishing. Everything was doing well, and one day in the not-too-distant future there would be oil in Persia. He was convinced of that. It was his dream. After a moment of studying the memos, he put them back in a drawer in his desk, and locked it.

The business was in fantastic shape, thank God. He had turned it around in the fourteen years he had been at the helm. Nobody could fault him, and he was rather proud of his accomplishments, especially when he thought of the muddled mess he had discovered once he had removed the ‘Grant lot', as he called them. Also, his personal affairs were in good order. The trusts for the women in his life were finished; he had an appointment to see his solicitors next week to make the changes to his will; and his mother's financial affairs, which he had handled for years, were also in perfect order.

He was starting the new year right. Except for George. He pushed aside thoughts of his brother, now a bigger liability than ever. He would deal with him next week. Richard leapt into his mind, and he reminded himself yet again how wise he had been to buy that house from Nan Watkins. Richard and Anne were safe; they held the deeds.

Bending down to the bottom drawer of his desk, he unlocked it and took out the photograph of Lily, and straightened up. Rising, he carried it over to the window and studied it in the bright daylight. How beautiful she had been, and so loving, sincere, and warm-hearted. A good woman. His first Mistress, the one woman he had truly loved, and who had meant so much to him. Her death had devastated him, for such a long time. Her murder, the murder of their child, he corrected himself.

Lily had loved him in return, with all of her heart. And in death she had protected him, made him a very rich man. Her entire estate had been willed to him – the money, the houses, and much of her jewellery and antique furniture. It was Lily's fortune which he had increased over the years, that he had used to create the trusts for Grace Rose and his daughters, and to buy the Chelsea house from Nan. He knew Lily would be happy if she knew what good use he had made of her legacy. And perhaps she did know. He stared down at the photograph of her again … and he certainly knew how much he had missed her all these years. He cared very much for Jane Shaw, and she was a blessing to him, but she could never replace Lily. No one could. Elizabeth least of all.

Elizabeth
. How she had infuriated him on Boxing Day; those mean words she had uttered to Fenella when she and Mark had come over for tea had cut him to the quick.
Her
mouth always open, her foot always in it
, he thought, remembering Will's comment. She was a jealous woman, no two ways about that. And on Boxing Day night they had had a terrible quarrel, all because he had said she was silly to be jealous of his relationship with Fenella, who was more like a sister to him than anything else. He had gone on to add that they were, very simply, just platonic friends, known each other for donkeys' years. But Elizabeth couldn't seem to
accept that, and she had accused him of a romantic liaison with Fenella.

‘There's more self-love in jealousy than love,' he had retorted coldly when she had calmed down, paraphrasing de La Rochefoucauld to her. She had glared at him angrily and flounced off, and they had not been on very good terms since then. So be it, he thought, and went back to his desk.

There was a knock on the door, and Amos put his head round it. ‘Can I have a word, Mr Edward?'

‘Yes, come in Amos.' Edward laid the photograph in the bottom drawer and locked it. ‘What is it? You sound worried.'

‘I am, sir. I'm concerned about that damnable gun in Mr George's office. I just don't like the idea of guns around here. Guns are dangerous.'

‘Too true, but I can't do much about it.'

‘I could remove it, sir.'

‘Yes, you could. But I don't think you should. I don't want him to know that someone can get in and out of his office and his desk, and with ease. That must be our secret, Amos.'

‘I understand, sir. So I won't remove the gun then. No problem.'

Edward nodded. ‘That's a good chap, Amos. I'm about to leave. I have to meet Mr Hasling at the Savoy for lunch. And I doubt that I'll be back this afternoon. So I will collect Grace Rose and you tomorrow, at Mrs Vicky's.'

‘Thank you, sir. She's excited, Grace Rose. She can't wait to go to her mother's grave.'

‘It will mean a certain kind of ending for her,' Edward murmured. ‘I'm so glad you were able to help her in that.'

W
ill Hasling realized the moment Edward Deravenel walked into the Grill Room of the Savoy Hotel that his friend and colleague was carrying new and heavy burdens.

Their close friendship of over twenty years was unsullied by any quarrels or disagreements, and he knew Ned as well as he knew himself; perhaps even better than he knew himself. And after all of these years of closeness he could read Ned like a book. He suspected that it was George who was at the root of the trouble, and the cause of Ned's glum expression.

‘Am I late?' Edward asked a split second later, sitting down opposite his dearest friend.

‘No, you're not. I arrived here early in point of fact, and I was certainly rather surprised to see how busy the Grill is today, a Saturday, after all.

Edward glanced around the Grill Room, and nodded. ‘Very busy, but probably with hotel guests. I don't see any familiar faces.'

‘That's true,' Will agreed. ‘I thought I might have a glass of champagne. Does that appeal to you?'

‘Yes, why not?'

Will signalled to a waiter, who came over immediately, and Will asked to see the wine list, then he looked across at Edward and asked, ‘What's wrong? Is it to do with erstwhile brother George?'

‘It is, naturally. As you well know he didn't show up this week, as he was supposed to do, and instead I had that silly message from him via Isabel, that he had bronchitis and couldn't come to the phone.'

Will half-laughed, half-snorted. ‘You told me, and I was utterly amazed at his gall. But surely you're not worried about his absence?' Will stared at Edward quizzically.

‘No. I'm worried about what happened in Scotland with Ian MacDonald. I didn't tell you about the débâcle that occurred up there, because I wanted to tackle George first, get his side of the story, face-to-face. But since he's done a bunk, and is still in Yorkshire ensconced at Thorpe Manor with Nan, I thought I ought to fill you in today.' Ned paused as the waiter returned with the wine list, which he gave to Will.

After flicking through the list, Will ordered a bottle of Krug rosé champagne. Turning to Ned, he picked up their conversation. ‘I suppose he blew the deal, didn't he?'

‘Well … sort of … but actually not quite. I have been able to satisfy MacDonald that I am serious. However, I believe it entails your going to Scotland this coming week, to settle matters with your usual diplomacy and skill. Richard will have to go with you, since MacDonald wants a Deravenel present at the final negotiations, and obviously George is not welcome.'

‘Naturally I'll go, but what happened?' Will began to frown, perplexity ringing his face as he stared at Edward intently. ‘The last I heard everything was going beautifully.'

‘That's true, it was. The first meeting on the Friday before Christmas was handled well, and that weekend MacDonald took George to some of his distilleries outside Edinburgh. The problems developed on Monday, the twenty-third of December. George apparently became tough with MacDonald, and extremely so, according to the Scotsman, who had the good sense to let the matter drop for the moment. He didn't want to argue with George at that time. He thought it would be more sensible, and wiser, to continue business matters after Christmas. If you remember, I told you George had been invited to stay with MacDonald and his daughter and her family in the Lammermuir Hills. Seemingly, George behaved rather badly over Christmas, got drunk, became arrogant and boastful, as only he can. And on Boxing Day he stormed off, after demanding a car and a driver to take the family back to the hotel in Edinburgh. That was when I received an irate telephone call at Ravenscar from a very angry Ian MacDonald.'

‘And our George does a bunk, rushes back to England, but not to London, to Yorkshire instead, unable to face you, I've no doubt.' Will shook his head. ‘He's such a fool. Doesn't he understand that we all see through him? He's so transparent it's pathetic.'

Edward smiled faintly. ‘He's in a bit of a funk at the moment, I should think, since he has made a bloody mess of things.'

‘But MacDonald is still prepared to negotiate, I'm assuming?'

‘Yes, he is, Will, and actually, if the truth be known, I can't imagine why George was even arguing about money. It was a very reasonable deal, as far as I'm concerned. Why he wanted to antagonize MacDonald in the way he did I'll never understand.
The price was fine
.' Edward compressed his mouth, looked away, and then turning back to face Will, he explained, ‘MacDonald reported everything to me
verbatim, and I'm absolutely sure he told me the truth. I've known him for years and he's an honest man. As for George, he should have discussed everything with me, especially if he had any doubts whatsoever. But in his usual conceited, arrogant and bumptious way, he wanted to play the big shot. Little good that'll do him.'

‘It's all about power with George,' Will volunteered. ‘He wants to wield it.
Powerfully
. He's got an inflated opinion of himself and his abilities, and he just plunges on like a wild pig in a forest looking for truffles, with absolutely no thought.' Will paused, turned to the waiter who had arrived with the champagne, and thanked him.

A moment later, Will touched his champagne flute to Ned's, and went on swiftly, ‘But please explain one thing to me. You said at the outset, weeks ago, that you didn't really care whether you made the deal or not. So why do you want it so much now?'

‘I don't,' Edward replied. ‘No, that's not what I mean. Let me explain.' Ned leaned across the table, staring at his friend fixedly. ‘I think acquiring the MacDonald operation would be good for us in the long run: it certainly will help to boost the wine division. The deal for me hangs on two things – the price MacDonald wants for the company, and the output at the distilleries. That's why I need to know more about the distilleries. But all of that aside, George has put me in an impossible situation.'

Will nodded, sipped his champagne, said nothing as he waited.

Edward murmured, ‘I'm embarrassed, if you want to know the truth. That George behaved in the way he did is quite unconscionable. To become abusive with an older man, to behave like an ignorant lout, to make demands on his host, well, quite frankly, it makes my blood boil. He is after all a Deravenel. And we are gentlemen.
Supposedly
.'

‘I understand, but George doesn't,' Will informed him. ‘George is all about George. He's been thoroughly spoilt, if you don't mind me saying so. By your sister Margaret and also your mother.'

‘I know how Meg babied him when they were growing up together, and yes, Mama does tend to come to his aid most of the time, and yes, he has a total misconception about himself.'

‘I know you loathe it when you feel the Deravenel name has been besmirched, and I do understand why you think MacDonald needs to be … well, shall we say appeased, catered to a little bit. He has to be brought into the fold, so to speak,' Will said.

‘Exactly.'

‘And you think I can do that?' Will now asked, settling back in the chair. ‘With Richard's help.'

‘Without his help, actually, Will, but MacDonald wants a Deravenel present at the meetings.'

‘All right then. I shall go and do my damndest to get you the MacDonald Distillery Company, be assured of that. And I shall enjoy Richard's company. We always get on well, and have since he was … your Little Fish.'

Edward smiled. ‘He's the loyal one, the caring and cautious one, my Little Fish.' He sighed, and gave Will a long, careful look. ‘George has a gun in his office drawer.'

‘Good God!' Will sat up straighter. ‘What for?'

‘I don't know. I'm sure he doesn't intend to go around the office, shooting people. Perhaps it's in the office because he doesn't want it in his home.'

‘But why does he want a gun at all?'

Edward shrugged, bafflement settling on his face.

‘How do you know he has a gun in his office drawer?' Will now thought to ask.

‘Because I had Amos break into his office this morning, and he also picked the locks on George's desk drawers.'

‘What were you looking for?'

‘I honestly don't know. But somewhere at the back of my mind there's a vague remembrance of …
something
… something to do with … plots … takeovers. I just can't put my finger on it.'

Will became very still. He stared at Edward and said slowly, quietly, ‘I think maybe I can help you there. I remember, long ago, Johnny Watkins talking to me about Louis Charpentier, John Summers and Margot Grant … he was muttering on about …
plots making strange bedfellows
. Somehow we got onto the subject of Henry Turner, Henry Grant's nephew … Johnny said there would always be somebody prepared to stake a claim on Deravenels. You were in the room with us, perhaps that's what you remember, albeit only vaguely.'

‘I think perhaps you're right, Will. I know that George wants to be me, to run Deravenels, to own Ravenscar, to have all that I have … money, power, privilege … and he would certainly make a deal with the devil.
Henry Turner
. My mother mentioned him over Christmas, and I suppose the name has stayed in my head. George is treacherous by nature. You know that as well as I do. He's not to be trusted.'

‘You've got to do something about him, Edward,' Will now said in a low tone, adding, ‘and immediately.'

‘But what? That is the question.'

‘Send him travelling as Oliveri suggested.'

‘Not on your life!' Edward answered. ‘I have to keep him right under my nose, where I can see him, hear him at all times. That's the only solution.'

‘So, that settles George then. Shall we order lunch?' Will suggested, smiling for the first time that morning. But his smile hid his true feelings. Having George before his eyes did not mean that Edward would be safe from harm. George Deravenel was a born schemer, a troublemaker, greedy and
ambitious. As long as he was around at Deravenels, working in the company, Ned was vulnerable. Will knew he had to watch Ned's back. And so must Amos. There was trouble brewing. Will could sense it, almost smell it …